


Off and On - Contact & Dragonfly

by run_sure_footed



Series: Before Kipo [9]
Category: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon)
Genre: (natural causes), Animal Death, Crying, Depression, Frustration, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, M/M, Non-Human Genitalia, Penetrative Sex, Weird Biology, Yelling, fear of intimacy, non-mammalian genitalia, thoughts of animal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26903542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/run_sure_footed/pseuds/run_sure_footed
Summary: Here's the next instalment of Off and On, our series of break-ups/make-ups between Harris and Jamack.
Relationships: Harris/Jamack (Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts)
Series: Before Kipo [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878325
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Off and On - Contact & Dragonfly

_Contact_

Harris’ erection nudged against Jamack’s before he took himself in hand to guide it to Jamack’s opening, pressing against it. Jamack’s body was slick and excited and he opened easily to Harris.

Jamack gave a few soft moans as that beautiful pressure slid deeper and deeper, making his legs tremble around Harris’ waist. He kept his eyes locked on Harris’, fingers clutching their makeshift sheets.

Those eyes. Harris wanted to look away, but unless he turned his head completely he knew he’d still be able to see Jamack’s eyes staring up at him. He knew that even if he closed his eyes he’d be able to feel that gaze upon him. Jamack’s eyes were practically shining, shining with something Harris couldn’t name and didn’t want to. It wasn’t right for a Mod Frog to look at another Frog like that—for a Frog to look at _anything_ like that. He stilled, transfixed, unable to look away or to return what Jamack was offering him.

“Fuck,” Jamack groaned. “You feel so good.”

To his mortification, Harris felt himself start sliding out of Jamack. He was softening, his waning erection withdrawing back into his cloaca. He still couldn’t look away.

Jamack made a high sound of disappointment as Harris slid out, practically a whine. “Harris?”

“I-I’m sorry. I can’t.” Harris pulled himself free with a wet, sticky noise. He began ruthlessly pulling on his suit, making sure every line was neat and precise. He wished he had something to wipe himself with, but he’d have to settle for standing in the Pond and giving himself a discreet scrub when he got back.

“What?” Jamack felt his chest tighten, something like fear rising in his throat. “Why?” He sat up, his own erection dwindling now.

Harris silently shook his head, keeping his back to Jamack so he wouldn’t have to look at him. “You take the car. I’ll…find my own way back.” He launched himself out of one of the broken windows and climbed down the wall. Once out of sight, he dropped to all fours and hopped.

“…fuck.” Jamack let himself fall back onto the bed. How long would it be this time? Somehow he doubted it would be the last time they started and ended this secret relationship. It had never been quite this abrupt before, however.

After wallowing in annoyance and self-pity for awhile, Jamack got up and dressed. He folded the bed back up into the dresser to keep it clean and hidden. He carefully leaned some broken furniture against the door to their secret room, hoping that no other scavenger would find it and claim it. It might be awhile before they were back.

He couldn’t let go of the hope that they _would_ be back.

_Dragonfly_

Jamack was hardly talking. He went through the motions, did what he was told, but nothing extra. He didn’t comment on anything, when normally he wouldn’t shut up. With each passing day, Harris grew more and more concerned. Their relationship had only recently recovered from the last break up, Jamack finally talking to him like a friend again, and now this? He tried to watch Jamack closely, the way _Jamack_ watched things—usually—but he still couldn’t figure it out.

He finally managed to get Kwat alone. “What’s wrong with Jamack?” He didn’t have to dance around things with her, he could just come out and ask. It was one of the things he liked best about her. No bullshit.

Kwat gave him a surprised look. She knew Jamack and Harris hadn’t been together for about a month now—it wasn’t hard to track when they were together or apart, at least not for her—but she’d expected Jamack would talk to Harris about what was bothering him, since he hadn’t told her. If he wasn’t talking to either of them, that didn’t bode well for his mood. He’d only recently cheered up since Harris had last broken up with him and then his mood had taken a nosedive last week. Whatever was hurting him, he wasn’t coping well.

“He hasn’t been talking to you? He more or less stopped talking to me last week. I’ve hardly heard a word out of him.” She had tried her best to initiate conversation, to draw him out, but she didn’t have the gift for that the way Jamack did. If he answered her at all, it was monosyllabic.

Harris froze. “You don’t know either?” This was bad, very bad.

“I figured he’d told you,” she said, frowning. If she’d known he’d completely clammed up, she would have tried harder to find out what was wrong.

“ _I_ figured he’d told _you_.”

“I’ll ask around.”

Harris nodded. “Thank you.” There weren’t many people he’d say that to, but he wasn’t worried about Kwat holding it against him. He’d been afraid he’d have to cash in some of his own favours—not that he had very many, and most of them he’d only gotten because of Jamack—in order to get the information he needed, and he was relieved by Kwat’s offer.

He also didn’t want to have to stoop to just coming out and _asking_ Jamack the way he had with Kwat, if he could avoid it.

*

It wasn’t until later that night that Kwat found out what was wrong, after talking to the few other Frogs who knew Jamack pretty well. It seemed strange to be seeking out something that Jamack ought to tell _them_ from Frogs outside their circle, but once she heard the news, she could understand why.

She caught Harris just as he was headed for the garage, grabbing his arm and pulling him aside. Once they were in a fairly private spot, she told him what she’d learned. “Our old dragonfly died.” The dragonfly had been retired for a couple of months, its wings slower than they had been, and a new one had started pulling their car since then. None of the dragonflies belonged to any specific Frog, they were assigned to cars, and cars were assigned to Frogs depending on their age and rank. Dragonflies were a Pond resource, just like cars. But it was an open secret that Jamack loved dragonflies, and Kwat and Harris knew he had especially bonded with the one that had been pulling their car for years.

“Oh. Well, that happens?” Harris shrugged. He knew Jamack cared about dragonflies more than most Frogs—more than he should, really—but he wasn’t sure what else to say.

He shook his head. It was a good thing he was only talking to Kwat first! If he’d said something like that to Jamack, he might never have forgiven him. But what was he _supposed_ to say?

Kwat shrugged too. Loss was something they were all used to, hardened to. Losing Mod Frogs was normal—in battle, in accidents. The rate of deaths went down the older they got, but most of the Frogs born in their year hadn’t made it to twenty-five. The vast majority of the tadpoles from their hatch hadn’t even made it through their first year. And the majority of those who survived to be Froglets never lived to lose their tails. Death was expected. Death surrounded them.

But Jamack was soft in a lot of ways.

All three of them had grown up as outcasts, which was why they had bonded so strongly with each other.

Harris had always been weaker and thinner than the other Froglets. He struggled to swim, and his large red eyes were like a target. Perhaps there had been other Tadpoles like him early on, but none had survived long enough for Harris to ever know another Froglet that looked like him.

Kwat herself had stuttered as a Froglet, and for a time it had meant that she simply didn’t speak. Her silence coupled with her enormous size had earned her the unfortunate nickname ‘Mega.’

Of the three of them, Jamack could perhaps have escaped ridicule and assault. He certainly looked the most like a typical Mod Frog. But Jamack’s flaw could quickly be laid bare by belittling something important to him—like dragonflies, or, for that matter, her and Harris. Jamack was _emotional_ ; he cared, deeply, about things that Frogs just weren’t supposed to care about, and it had left him vulnerable growing up. Since then he had learned how to hide most of that, but Kwat and Harris knew too much of him to be fooled.

Dragonflies were tools, they were there to be useful. But she knew he’d visited that dragonfly after it had been retired. He’d bonded with it as surely as he’d bonded with her and Harris. Dragonflies lived a good twenty years sometimes, but their lifespans were much shorter than a successful Mod Frog.

What could she say to someone who had lost something that she simply couldn’t understand having, or wanting? Neither she nor Harris were good at that, at finding the right words.

Harris gave a soft huff of laughter. “Yeah, that’s about it, isn’t it?” He shook his head, reaching into his pocket. He took out his waterproof cigarette case and pulled out a cigarette for each of them. After handing one to Kwat, he flicked open his lighter to light their cigarettes, his gaze lingering on the flame for a moment. Lives burning up. Was that how Jamack saw the world, how his thoughts were all the time? It was so stupid, and yet…

“Fuck.” He flipped the lighter closed.

Kwat nodded. They smoked in silence until Harris had to go on patrol. “ _Talk_ to him,” she said around her cigarette, heading away from the garage. She could have gone with them tonight, but Jamack was more likely to open up to Harris, and it would likely be easier for him without another Frog’s attention on him, even if it was just her.

This time Harris’ laugh sounded almost like a sob. “But what should I _say_?” he asked, practically begging as he followed her.

She shrugged again, then hesitated. Jamack was the one with the words. Maybe it was best to let him say them. “I don’t think you need to say much. Just listen.” Hopefully Jamack would open up without much pressure. Usually Jamack wouldn’t shut up. Surely that would be useful right now.

Harris cocked his head. “Huh. I think you’re right.” He grinned at her. “Thanks, Kwat.” That was the second time he’d thanked her today. He had to be careful—giving thanks was a form of currency, one he couldn’t afford to overspend, not even with Kwat.

Jamack was waiting in the car. Harris was a couple minutes late and normally Jamack would have chewed him out for it, or at least remarked on it, but tonight he said nothing. Once Harris was in, he clicked for the dragonfly to start flying. It pulled the car out onto the lily pads and under the bridge, heading out of the Pond.

Jamack was silent and staring straight ahead, and Harris was reluctant to break that silence. He focused his attention straight ahead as well, which left him looking at the dragonfly’s abdomen. Honestly, he couldn’t tell the difference. Someone could have told him it was their old dragonfly and he’d believe them. What was it about them that made them so special to Jamack? Some of the Frogs were really into cars in much the same way Jamack was into dragonflies, but Harris could almost understand that. Cars meant mobility, prestige. Dragonflies were just…what made them move. Sure, riding on an untethered dragonfly was fun, but not the nearly mystical event it seemed to be for Jamack.

Jamack slowly turned his attention out his side window, leaning his head in his hand. He let the dragonfly take them on their usual tour around Mod Frog territory. Usually he enjoyed driving, changing their route, checking things out, but over the last week he just hadn’t wanted to do any of that. Part of it was grief, he knew it was, but another part of it was shame and anger at himself. He shouldn’t be feeling anything over this. He shouldn’t be acting like this. But he couldn’t seem to stop, no matter how convincingly he argued with himself.

“I’m…sorry?” It was so hard to start talking that Harris felt as though he was breaking a physical barrier, but now that he’d gotten the first words out he hoped it would be easier for Jamack to add more of them. He could even add a few, if he had to.

Jamack hadn’t been expecting any conversation from Harris and he was almost startled. “What?” He frowned. “Why? You weren’t that late.”

“Not for that! For… About what happened.” Harris inclined his head meaningfully at the dragonfly, hoping he wouldn’t have to clarify any further.

Jamack’s expression hardened and he turned away, looking out his window again. “It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. He had yet to convince himself to believe that, but maybe he could convince Harris. That would be a good first step.

Very, very slowly, as though Jamack might attack him—and there was a slight chance he would—Harris reached out and touched Jamack. Just on his suit, on his upper arm, but it was more than they’d touched in…he wasn’t sure how long. It felt like forever, but probably about a month. “It’s important…to you,” he said hesitantly. He hoped he could convey the right feelings—he wasn’t upset about the dragonfly, didn’t understand the whole thing, really, but he _was_ upset because Jamack was upset. Which was nearly as stupid, but he couldn’t help it. A small revelation. Just like Jamack couldn’t help how he felt about the dragonfly. “It must be…hard?”

Jamack stiffened at the touch, holding himself very still. Harris was being horrible and sensitive and Jamack wished he’d just told him to suck it up. That had been what he’d been expecting, which was why he hadn’t mentioned what had happened to either of his colleagues. It was weakness, pure and simple. And maybe they knew all his weak points already, maybe this wouldn’t be news to them, but he didn’t want _sympathy_. He didn’t want Harris to reach out to him like he was injured, like he needed help. He just wanted to feel better and move on.

The worst part was, he knew if Harris kept pushing, he wasn’t going to be able to stay calm about this. He’d wept silently in his burrow, trying to release the pressure of that grief, but he could still feel that slowly sharpening anguish just under the surface, ready to burst out if any of it was exposed. “It’s fine. It’s over.” Maybe that would satisfy him.

“It’s…” Fuck, this was hard. Harris would take a good, dirty fight over this kind of thing any day. “It’s ok if it’s not?” He kept sounding like he was asking questions rather than making statements, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

Jamack groaned. “Stop, Harris. I can’t do this right now.” If he broke down in front of Harris and cried—cried!—over a stupid dragonfly, he would never live it down, he would have that hanging over him for the rest of his life.

Alarmed, Harris pulled back his arm. “O-okay. Sorry. I’m—never mind.”

Jamack straightened his sleeve as though Harris had disarranged it. He adjusted his tie, tried to compose himself. It would be fine soon. He just had to push through this. Time fixed that kind of thing, right? That was the only thing he needed, more time.

*

It was another few days before things came to a head.

They were on patrol again when their new dragonfly misinterpreted one of Jamack’s cues, nearly hitting a fallen utility pole. Younger dragonflies didn’t always understand that obstacles on the ground were impassable by car, since they could simply fly over, and this one had far less experience being cued than their last dragonfly.

Jamack pulled it up short, the car just missing the pole. He screamed with frustration. “Fuck! Useless fucking—” He got out of the car, slamming the door shut behind himself. He wanted to break something, to hurt something, and all his anger was aimed at the dragonfly. He wanted to yell at it, to kick it, but even the thought of it sent guilt through him. He hated himself for even thinking it and the anger turned inwards. He slumped against the car, sitting on the ground and croaking with distress, head tilted back to keep the tears welling in his eyes from spilling out.

At first Harris just thought Jamack was being his usual dramatic self, and he waited impatiently in the car for him to get over himself. Hopefully this was what he needed to move past…whatever emotional thing was going on with him.

But then Jamack started croaking. And…was he crying?

Harris opened the door as quietly as he could. He couldn’t see Jamack, but he could certainly hear him. He crossed to the driver’s side and came to a dead stop. “Uh, Jamack?” What should he say? What _could_ he say?

Jamack met his eyes and held out a hand for Harris, silently. It was too late to collect himself, too late to pretend he wasn’t hurting. All he wanted now was comfort.

Still moving slowly and carefully, Harris crouched beside Jamack. He took Jamack’s hand loosely, keeping his legs tucked beneath him in case he had to jump away.

Jamack pulled him in, pressing his face to Harris’ skinny chest, finally closing his eyes and letting the tears slide down his face. His shoulders shook. He was still fighting to keep himself quiet, to keep himself together, but if he didn’t let some of it out he felt like he might be sick.

“Woah. Ok. I’m…here?” Harris patted Jamack’s back stiffly.

Jamack nodded, still silent. He wrapped his arms around Harris’ middle and didn’t let go. He was too overwhelmed to even process the distress that came with being so emotional in front of Harris. It was too much. Soft croaks still escaped his throat every few breaths.

It would have been the perfect time for a Mega to attack them and interrupt this emotional scene. Harris would have far preferred that.

Because it was an unjust and cruel world, they were left totally alone.

Harris slowly relaxed into Jamack’s powerful grip, resigning himself to staying put for a while. He murmured soft nonsense, hoping he was doing the right thing—or at the very least not doing the _wrong_ thing. “I won’t leave you.” It was a stupid thing to say. Their lives were dangerous and connections were discouraged, but in that moment, at least, he meant it. “I’m not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to [BlueOatmeal](%E2%80%9C) for Kwat's mean childhood nickname!


End file.
